


I Wear My Heart On My Skin

by WingsforWinter



Series: 30 Day Cheesy Tropes Challenge [2]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe, Bottom Dean, Fluff, Fluff and Smut, M/M, Rock Star Dean, Tattoo Artist Castiel, Tattoos, Top Castiel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-24
Updated: 2014-04-24
Packaged: 2018-01-20 15:15:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,409
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1515137
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WingsforWinter/pseuds/WingsforWinter
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean is a world-famous rock star and he has been coming to Castiel's shop to get tattooed for years.</p>
<p>Castiel has harbored a ridiculous crush on the celebrity for even longer. </p>
<p>Can Castiel control himself long enough to finish Dean's cryptic new tattoo?</p>
            </blockquote>





	I Wear My Heart On My Skin

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into 中文 available: [I Wear My Heart On My Skin 真情流露](https://archiveofourown.org/works/5415650) by [destielarmyCN](https://archiveofourown.org/users/destielarmyCN/pseuds/destielarmyCN)



> [30 Day Cheesy Tropes Challenge](http://ghiraher.tumblr.com/post/37135733342/30-day-cheesy-tropes-challenge)
> 
> Day 2: Idol/Fan
> 
> Just as a reference, this is the position tattoo artists use to work on peoples' throats: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Extk88sZwkU
> 
> This was SUPPOSED to be a PWP, but as you can see, I failed. The plot just happened, I swear.

“Hiya Cas! Got any time to ink me up today?”

 

Castiel refrained from whimpering, but only just. It didn’t matter how many times he saw Dean Fucking Winchester in the flesh, his body still reacted the same way as it did on day one, nearly five years ago now.

 

It was an awful, uncomfortable, thrilling mixture of being star-struck and forcibly turned on. Castiel didn’t know whether he hated it or not.

 

The lead singer of Castiel’s favorite band leaned languidly against the front counter of his tattoo shop like he didn’t have a care in the world. Fair, considering his band just went platinum and was slated beside Motörhead and Rise Against for an overseas tour in the fall.

 

“Hello Dean.” Castiel cringed internally at the slight waver in his voice. _Get a hold of yourself! You’ve tattooed the man’s ass for fucks sake!_ Dean’s shit eating grin softened to something Castiel had only seen a handful of times over the years and his chuckle held nothing but fondness.

 

“Hi Cas. Are you busy? I could come back. I just got in to town and I wanted to stop by and see my favorite torturer.” It was a running joke that Dean thought all tattoo artists were sadists after a truly horrific first experience getting inked by an amateur scratcher named Alistair when Dean wasn’t even out of high school. Now about 70% of his body was covered, but he still squirmed when the buzz of the tattoo gun started up.

 

“I’m free the rest of the day. The shop has been uncharacteristically slow. I was just drawing up some flash for the walls before I close up.” Castiel held up a thin piece of tracing paper with an old school pin up design penciled on to it. Dean squinted at it before rounding the counter to stand over Castiel’s shoulder.

 

Castiel was inexorably happy that Dean wasn’t wearing his glasses, both because he could now feel the heat radiating off the other man through the shirt on his back and because the first and only time he’d seen Dean wearing the thick frames his dick nearly leaped out of his pants.

 

“Dude! That is awesome! If I didn’t already have something in mind for today I’d definitely get it somewhere.” Castiel grinned at the praise. Being based in West Hollywood meant he had quite a few famous clients over the years, but Dean was by far his favorite. And knowing that one of the world’s most famous rock stars walked around every day wearing _his_ artwork—bearing _his_ mark—helped him through many a lonely night with his hand.

 

“What do you have in mind for today?” Castiel asked, turning on his stool to face the other man. Dean had been standing very close to him. Castiel very nearly gasped when he realized just how close. If he leaned forward a few inches, he could draw his lips across the sliver of tanned skin between the other man’s tight black t-shirt and his jeans. Dean made a strangled squeaking sound and Castiel ripped his eyes away from the exposed strip of flesh and looked up at him.

 

Dean’s cheeks turned a brilliant red so fast that Castiel thought he might be choking on something. _Shit_. He rolled his stool backwards until he bumped against his desk, berating himself for making Dean uncomfortable, even if it was by accident.

 

Before he could apologize— _stupid, stupid, stupid_ —Dean took a rattling breath and pulled a crumpled piece of paper from his back pocket. He unfolded it, face still flushed, and thrust it at Castiel.

 

Castiel took the paper gingerly. He tried to catch Dean’s eye to convey his apology, but Dean’s eyes were flickering across the shop, everywhere but at Castiel.

 

He took his own calming breath. Dean was still there. And he hadn’t moved any farther away from Castiel, so he must still want the tattoo.

 

Castiel looked at the image on the paper and frowned. Most of Dean’s tattoos were old school images, thick lines and bright colors, but this was different. He thought for a second it was some kind of crude tribal armband, but then he realized it seemed almost like a word, albeit in a language Castiel had never seen before.

 

It looked to have seven characters, maybe eight, and each one had thicker and thinner parts, shaded in with pencil as if Dean had tried to imitate calligraphy. The word was strange, the font harsh, but Castiel liked it nonetheless.

 

Tension was still thick in the air, so Castiel tried a joke to lighten the mood. He hated to think he would have to tattoo Dean in such an awkward silence. “Where are you even going to put it? You can’t have much room left.”

 

His delivery was dry as always, but Dean chuckled and relaxed like a puppet whose strings had been cut. “I know. My mom freaked when you did my neck. Told me I’d never be able to get a _real_ job now. I swear the woman still treats me like I'm doing shows for the neighbor kids out of her garage.” 

 

Castiel loved the way Dean’s face softened when he talked about Mary and Sam—his giant little brother. It made him seem so much more _real_ somehow. The first time he had ever met the musician was when he had come in with said giant little brother to get matching tattoos over their hearts. It made Castiel smile to remember. “I was thinking, uh…” The blush that had faded on Dean’s cheeks started to return as he gestured to the front of his neck, right below his Adam’s apple, “here.”

 

Castiel swallowed a moan. It was bad enough when he tattooed the beautiful curve of the _back_ of Dean’s neck and now… Now Castiel was going to have to control himself for close to an hour as Dean lay with his head practically in Castiel’s _lap_ while he tattooed Dean’s _throat_ …

 

 

“Let me draw up the stencil. Take your shirt off and sit on the table.” Castiel could do this. He had worked damn hard to make his way from a street kid inking his friends up with a homemade gun to having one of the most well-known and respected shops in California. He was a professional. He could do this.

 

He didn’t stop to see if Dean followed his orders, taking the sketch over to his light box and tracing the reverse image onto a sheet of transfer paper. He brought the sheet back to Dean and applied it, pleased that he had judged the size perfectly. He was vaguely aware that Dean was holding his breath as Castiel fit the stencil to his skin and he hoped that his breath didn’t smell.

 

Castiel peeled the transfer paper off and held a mirror out to Dean so he could verify that the size and placement were correct. Dean gave a shaky sort of smile and Castiel frowned.

 

“You don’t seem very sure about this one.” He commented as Dean fidgeted on the tattoo bed. He wanted desperately to ask what this tattoo was about. What the word was. What it meant to him. Why whatever it said was important enough to tattoo it across his throat to be seen by everyone for the rest of his life. But he knew it was none of his business. If Dean wanted him to know, he’d tell him.

 

“No!” Dean yelped. His green eyes went wide and he cleared his throat. “I mean, uh… No, I’m very sure. I want this.” There was a fierce kind of determination in his voice that made Castiel glance up from the red outline on his freckled skin. This time Dean didn’t shy away from meeting Castiel’s gaze, and it spread a decidedly unprofessional kind of warmth through him.

 

“Lay back.” Castiel instructed. Dean shivered a little and did as he was told, his eyes fluttering closed as his head touched the padded headrest. Castiel rolled up the sleeves of his white dress shirt and washed his hands before snapping on black latex gloves and setting up his station.

 

When everything was ready to go, he adjusted the headrest so that Dean’s head was almost hanging off the table. He prepped the soon to be tattooed skin with Vaseline and tested his gun before dipping it in the black ink.

 

“You ready?”

 

“Yeah, Cas. I’m ready.”

 

Castiel steeled himself and rolled closer to Dean. He could feel the other man’s exhale warm the fabric over his stomach. Pulling Dean’s skin taut with one gloved hand, he started to outline the strange letters with the other. Dean didn’t flinch, barely breathed, and Castiel stopped.

 

“Seriously, Dean. Are you alright?”

 

“Yeah, Cas. I’m ok. You know how nervous I get.”

 

“You can talk if you want to, as long as you don’t move too much.”

 

Dean took his advice and started talking, and Castiel resumed tattooing. He finished the outline as Dean told him about drinking absinthe with Marilyn Manson and started filling in the letters as Dean relived some of the crazy fan interactions he had at the airport.

 

“I swear if I ever see another random pair of boobs again it’ll be too soon.”

 

 “I’m sure you’ll rethink that when you meet your future wife.” The words came out with an unintended bitter edge. It was a given that one day Dean would settle down with someone. Maybe another musician, or an actress, or maybe some lucky woman on the street would catch his eye one day and that would be that.

 

“Considering the fact that I don’t like women, I doubt I’ll have a future wife.” It took nearly a full minute for the words to sink into Castiel’s brain over the buzzing of his tattoo machine. He calmly pulled the fluttering needles away from Dean’s neck and looked down at him.

 

“I’ve seen you with women. You’re straight.” He told Dean’s upside-down face.

 

Dean smiled weakly. “No, I’m just really, _really_ stubborn.”

 

Castiel’s brain was short-circuiting. Dean Winchester was gay. Dean Fucking Winchester was gay and about six inches from his crotch. Holy Shit.

 

Dean cleared his throat and it brought Castiel crashing back to reality. Just because Dean liked men, it didn’t mean Dean liked _him_. Right?

 

“And I’m also kind of in love with you.” Well, fuck.

 

Castiel’s mouth moved without any input from his brain. “If this is some kind of joke, I’m going to ink a dick on your forehead. So help me God.”

 

Dean moved to get up, and Castiel moved back to allow him. He sat up and turned so he was looking Castiel directly in the eyes.

 

“I am 100% not fucking around. I wouldn’t joke about this. I’m not high, or drunk, or concussed or in any way incapacitated. I, Dean Winchester, am in love with you, Castiel Cross. I have been for years, I’ve just been too chicken shit to act on it.”

 

Castiel was dimly aware that his mouth was hanging open.

 

“Cas, say something man. You're really freaking me out.”

 

“But you're famous.” _Like he doesn’t already know_.

 

“So? You are too, kinda. Don’t think I didn’t see you on the cover of _Inked_.”

 

“You’re on this month’s cover of Rolling Stone. I believe there is a slight difference.”

 

“So?”

 

“ _So_ , you could have anyone you want.”

 

“Yeah? Well I want you.”

 

“ _Why_?!”

 

“Because you're… You know what? I shouldn’t need to explain. If you don’t feel that way about me all you have to do is say so.”

 

“Of course I do, you idiot. I’ve been thinking about Day of the Dead style rotting zombie corpses for the last 45 minutes so I don’t poke you in the forehead with my boner.” _Nice, mouth. Very nice. Why don’t you tell him you jerked off to the Rolling Stones cover while you're at it?_

 

Dean’s answering grin was blinding. “Oh, good. I really would’ve hated to get this lasered off.” He gestured to the mostly finished tattoo.

 

“Why would you have to get it removed?”

 

Dean looked a little embarrassed, which confused Castiel even more, but did wonders for his libido.

 

“It’s uh… It’s your name. In Enochian. It’s like angel-language. You know, since you're named after an angel and all…” Castiel gaped at him.

 

“You got _my name_ tattooed across your _neck_ before you even knew if I _liked you or not?!_ ” He was infatuated with a crazy person.

 

Dean looked equally amused and sheepish. “Well, I mean… I had a pretty good idea. You took awfully long to finish the tat on my ass.”

 

It was Castiel’s turn to blush.

 

“Lay back down.” Dean looked like he wanted to argue, but Castiel cut him off. “Lay down. We’ll talk after I finish this up.”

 

It nearly killed him to finish the tattoo. He didn’t think it was possible, but he was even more aware of Dean’s proximity than before. He was so aroused that it was almost painful by the time he wiped down the completed tattoo and loosely bandaged it. The unmistakable sound of a zipper made him look over.

 

Dean was struggling out of his jeans. On his tattoo bed. The tent in his black boxer briefs was truly a sight to behold. _Snap out of it!_

 

“Stop!” He gasped as Dean palmed his erection through the fabric. Dean froze. “We can’t do this here. It’s unsanitary. I can’t just throw the table in the autoclave.”

 

Dean groaned. “Fuck sanitary. I’ve been waiting five years for you to fuck me.”

 

The gears in Castiel’s head ground forcibly to a halt.

 

“Cas? Did I break you already?” Dean looked up at him, a devious expression on his face.

 

“My office.” Castiel growled. “Now.”

 

He watched Dean’s pupils dilate at his rough tone. Interesting. “Yes, sir.”

 

Castiel got up quickly, not bothering to hide his own obvious arousal. He cleaned up his station, locked the front door, flicked the front lights off, and made his way to the small office in the back of the shop.

 

He stumbled in the doorway as he was met with the sight of his ultimate fantasy spread out on the couch in his office, naked as the day he was born, two fingers buried in his ass. Dean was hopeful enough not only to have Castiel’s fucking _name_ permanently etched into his skin, but to also have brought along lube and condoms. Bless him.

 

Castiel caught himself quickly and started undressing. Dean watched hungrily as more and more of Castiel’s inked up skin was exposed, three fingers now working furiously between his legs. Castiel didn’t hold back his moan as his cock was freed from his boxers and Dean licked his lips at the sight. He squeezed the base and gave himself a loose stroke and Dean let out a moan of his own.

 

“C’mon, Cas… Don’t tease me… Need you.” Dean’s breath was coming in harsh pants and tiny whimpering sighs and Castiel hadn’t even touched him yet. That wouldn’t do.

 

“Stop touching yourself. On your hands and knees.” Castiel commanded. Dean shuddered, letting out a low groan, and promptly obeyed. Very interesting.

 

Castiel slid onto the couch behind Dean and stroked a hand down his spine. Dean arched into the touch like a cat. Castiel traced the figure of the Archangel Michael standing triumphant over Lucifer that he had inked into Dean’s back several years ago. His fingertips ghosted along the ruby red kiss print he’d placed on Dean’s right ass cheek the year before. He dragged his thumb lightly across Dean’s puckered hole. Dean pushed back against him, letting out a whimper that went straight to Castiel’s cock, and he was done teasing.

 

Dean had done a good job opening himself up, but Castiel checked anyway, sliding his lubed fingers into Dean’s tight heat. Dean panted, grinding back against Castiel’s hand, trying to force the fingers deeper, and whined when they would go no further.

 

Castiel hushed him, running his free hand over Dean’s back again and the other man practically _purred_. He withdrew his fingers and rolled on the condom, ignoring the other man’s protest at his sudden emptiness.

 

He slicked himself up with the remainder of the lube and paused at Dean’s entrance. “Are you ready?”

 

“Yes! Jesus fuck, Cas I’ve been ready for half a decade, now fuck me already!”

 

Castiel required no further prompting. In one smooth motion he was buried to the hilt. They groaned in unison as Dean wiggled his hips a little, getting used to the stretch. When Dean pulled himself forward and slid back onto Castiel a few times, he took that as permission to start moving.

 

He gripped the rock star’s hips tightly and set up a steady rhythm. He changed the angle several times and grinned in victory when Dean let out a wail, letting Castiel know he’d found the other man’s prostate. He pounded the same spot relentlessly until Dean was trembling beneath him.

 

“Wait! Cas, uunnnhh… Cas, stop, stop.” Castiel stilled his movement, still inside Dean, and waited for him to catch his breath. Dean turned to look at him over his shoulder and his sex-flushed skin turned a deeper red. “I wanna see you when I come.” His voice was barely above a whisper.

 

It was so out of character for the man in front of him that it took Castiel by surprise. Loud, brash, cocky, confident Dean Winchester--heart breaker extraordinaire--able to whip a crowd of tens of thousands of people to a frenzy with a couple words Dean Winchester, was… nervous. Asking Castiel to switch positions like he wasn’t sure he was allowed to.

 

Castiel realized that they hadn’t even kissed yet, and he was ashamed of himself. He was so eager that he skipped a couple important steps, and now Dean was second guessing himself. He pulled out and guided Dean onto his back, covering the trembling man with his body.

 

Castiel cupped Dean’s face in both hands and kissed him softly, mouth closed. He pulled back and opened his eyes. Dean studied his face for a long moment before breaking in to another resplendent smile. He wrapped both arms around Castiel’s neck and pulled him down for another kiss, and another.

 

Soon they were dissolving into laughter, kissing and giggling and rutting against each other like teenagers. Dean reached down between them and guided Castiel back inside his body.

 

Castiel thrust in slower this time, maintaining eye contact whenever they weren’t kissing, and it was _glorious_. He still couldn’t quite believe this was actually happening. The man that he had pined over for years, firmly believing to be out of his reach was under him, around him, asking not for one night, but for the foreseeable future. It was too good to be true.  

 

When he found Dean’s prostate again, the man squirmed beneath him, eyes fluttering shut in pleasure.

 

“Right there, Cas. Right there. So good…” He leaned forward and pressed his lips to each one of Dean’s eyelids in turn and Dean whimpered again. Castiel buried his face in the curve of Dean’s neck, kissing the edge of the bandage.

 

“I love you, Dean. I love you.” Castiel had never said those words before, to anyone, but they felt right. Dean’s body was magnificent, his voice amazing, his talent undeniable; but Castiel cared more about the man behind all that. Each little fact he’d painstakingly gathered from the rock star over the years played on a loop in his mind. All the little things that made him not just Dean Winchester the famous musician, but Dean Winchester the human being made Castiel’s chest fill with warmth.

 

Dean tugged lightly on Castiel’s hair and he pulled back to look him in the eye once more. Grinning at whatever he found there, Dean surged up to kiss him again before his whole body started shuddering. Warm wetness seeped between them and Castiel realized that Dean had come, practically untouched. The thought sent him over the edge.

 

He collapsed on top of the other man, trailing lazy kisses up Dean’s jaw. They had so much to talk about, but they could do that later. They had all the time in the world.

 

“I still can’t believe you got my name tattooed on your neck.”

 

“Yeah, well… I wear my heart on my skin.”

 

**Author's Note:**

> "Wear your heart on your skin in this life." -Sylvia Plath
> 
>  
> 
> If you or someone you know is getting a tattoo, MAKE SURE IT IS FROM A REPUTABLE SHOP!!
> 
> I CANNOT stress this enough. You can get any number of diseases from shady 'tattoo artists.'
> 
> Make sure the shop is clean and you can see them use new equipment, gloves and ink. Make sure they change their gloves if they touch ANYTHING other than your skin, the ink, the vaseline or the tattoo gun. 
> 
> Be safe!


End file.
